Romance on the Battlefield
by inkandrain
Summary: Civil War era fic. General Lee thought he had enough on his plate, having command of the Confederate army, but then he had to go and fall in love with the one person he couldn't have- Ulysses S. Grant.
1. Chapter 1

He had just received his latest letter from Mary, who was growing more impatient by the day. _When will you be home, Robbie? The children miss you so much. Come home, Robbie. It's so frightfully boring being stuck here with Mama and Daddy. I miss you Robbie. _He ran his fingers through his black hair, ready to pull it out from the roots. If only he could just leave everything behind, just _ride_ until everything was behind. Leave this wretched outpost on the fringes of civilisation, leave his family, his duties... Even as he thought it, he reprimanded himself. His mother's voice floated through his mind. _You'll be no better than your father, running off and never coming back someday. _He had a loving family and a country to fight for. What more could a man reasonably want?

Lee heard a soft knock of his cabin door. "Come in" he murmured wearily. The door opened cautiously and Sergeant Grant stepped inside. The demons in Lee's skull cackled and renewed their fierce attack. Grant had to be the sloppiest, drunkest, and most reckless officer in Mexico. He had gained fame among his men by riding a horse sidesaddle through thick enemy fire to deliver ammunition while completely drunk. Normally, Grant was the sort of man that Lee would expect to buckle when the delusions of fame and glory were replaced by the rain of bullets and wails of dying men, but Grant, like a nut, refused to crack.

"What do you want?" Lee asked curtly. He was far too tired for pleasantries.

Grant responded in kind. "More money. Nearly 30 men in my unit are wounded, and they need new bandages. We're almost out of mules, and the locals are asking outrageous prices-"

"How do I know that you won't spend it all on booze?" Lee raised his gaze to Grant's and stared at him. Most people flinched away after only a few seconds of his sphinxlike gaze, but Grant's hazel eyes met his dark brown ones steadily. There were tiny gold flecks near the iris, he noticed. Finally, after several uncomfortable moments, Lee had to look away. He thought something like triumph flashed over Grant's face, but it was hidden well.

"I won't, sir." said Grant evenly. And for whatever reason, Lee had to believe him.

Pulling a few notes out of his desk drawer, Lee handed them to Grant. "Use them well, sergeant."

"Yes, sir." Grant was almost out the door when he turned to Lee. "And, sir?"

"Yes, sergeant?"

"Grant's fine. Or Ulysses. Whichever you prefer." He was out the door before Lee could reply. The impudence of this man was simply astounding, but he couldn't bring himself to be furious with Sar- Grant.

His dreams that night were flecked with gold.


	2. Chapter 2

It was pouring outside. A regular tempest. Lee sat huddled in his cabin, which was dripping rain through the ceiling but better than nothing. There were voices outside, drunken ones, singing some obscene shanty. Since the weather was too bad for the army to march, the soldiers took used it as an excuse to get roaring drunk, forget about the war, the pain, the grief for a little while. Lee steadfastly opposed this age-old tradition, instead endeavoring to distract himself from the cold with a battered copy of _The Art of War _and a cup of lukewarm tea. Voices drifted. He couldn't help but notice that the revelry outside was starting to take on a distinctly violent tone. Groaning, he hauled himself out of the bed, all six feet unfolding gracefully, and cracked the door open.

There were about ten men kicking at what seemed to be a dog. Lee squinted into the haze of grey drizzle, suddenly seeing the torn and muddied coat, the dextrous, scrabbling fingers making weak protest against the abuse. "Hey!" Lee shouted, stepping out from behind the door. "What do you think you're doing? Who is that?"  
A soldier swayed drunkenly and slurred, "Union scum. Though' we'd 'ave a bit o' sport, Gen'ral. Ain't no harm done."  
"No harm done, you say." Lee's voice turned dark, the growl of a wolf. The soldier seemed not to notice.  
"Y'sir."  
Lee strode toward the crumpled figure. "Get out of my sight. Next time I find you tormenting another battered soul there'll be consequences."  
The soldiers stepped back, and tottered away with their arms around each other, starting up another bawdy chant.  
Lee turned his attention to the fallen man. His back heaved, and his feathery hair dripped dark with rain against his skull. His proud nose was bloody, bruises dappling the normally fine, pale line of his jaw. Hazel eyes squinted up at Lee. Flecked with gold.  
"_Grant? _What the _hell _are you doing here?"  
A lopsided grin stretched his face. "Thought you could use the company."  
Lee sighed, suppressing a grin. "C'mon, then, you need to dry off." Gripping underneath Grant's arms, Lee hauled him up and draped his long arm around his shoulder. Grant stumbled suddenly, falling against Lee and for the first time he noticed how warm Grant's body was.  
"Come on now, easy there," Lee murmured as he steadied Grant. Grant huffed his thanks into Lee's ear, ruffling the feathery brown hair with his warm breath, that, as always, smelled faintly of fine whisky.

In the dim light of the cabin, Grant's injuries were revealed to be worse than Lee had thought. Blood was leaking from Grant's chest from a dozen minor scrapes and contusions. When Lee stripped off his torn navy shirt, (not thinking about what that color meant, not thinking about the gray of his own uniform) he found that bruises blossomed like sinister flowers over his ribs and hips, shadows over the otherwise flawless pale skin. Lee paused, feeling distracted by the planes of the other man's slight, almost willowy body. Despite its grace and seeming frailty, the dips and lines of powerful muscles shifted just underneath the toned skin when Grant moved, honed by years in the saddle.  
Grant shifted on the small cot, his head tilting playfully. "Like what you see, General?" His tone held an undercurrent of flirtiness, an undercurrent of teasing lust. Lee huffed in annoyance and turned to boil bandages, hiding the blush that colored the sides of his face. So much for the rumours of painfully shy, quiet, introverted Grant. "Don't be silly." He wouldn't- _couldn't_- think about Grant's words, think about that moment, years ago, _just a moment, a stupid, passing moment-_

A snort of derisive laughter sounded behind him as he hunted for scraps of cotton. Trust Grant to behave so immaturely. Some introvert he was.

As Lee was applying a rough salve and bandaging the various gashes on Grant's (sculpted, perfect) chest, he noticed the shorter man leaning over to see Lee's hastily tossed copy of _The Art of War. _"Funny, General," Grant remarked with a yawn, breaking the almost peaceful silence between them. Now that he'd started to dry out in the meager heat of Lee's improvised fire, Grant seemed to be getting drowsy. "I never marked you as one to go by the books. Read it myself, actually-interesting stuff." Lee started, almost dropping the strip of cloth he had been winding around Grant's (curved, graceful) shoulder.

"I was of the opinion you'd never read a book in your life, Grant. You said it yourself, you'd hated the Academy."

"Well, yeah, but a man's got to know his strategy." Lee began quizzing Grant on the finer points of Tzu's text. To his surprise, Grant had a fine, philosophical mind untainted by common gossip or bias. The discussion continued for a long while, stuttering to an awkward halt when Lee tried to offer his cot for Grant to stay the night. It was ridiculous for a man in his condition to find his way back to wherever he was camped, especially as it was black as pitch now with the rain drumming against the roof. Of course, it would also be unpleasant for Lee, who was planning on sleeping in the lone rough chair standing crooked by the door under the least leaky part of the roof-obviously he wasn't planning on something as ridiculous as sharing the cot with Grant. He barely knew the man!

But over the course of two hours or so, felt as if he'd come to know Grant more closely than perhaps everyone. The man had been unusually open with him, debating topics that were normally too close to home for Lee to discuss regularly. But something seemed to echo of himself in Grant, some carefully hidden reckless streak, the stresses of battle, the expectations of his people, and above all the intense loneliness of a life at the forefront of a war. Grant had tried to be perfect, tried to put on the mask like Lee so often did, and failed. He'd hidden behind alcohol, and reckless abandon, trying desperately to find a way to cope.

Grant, now well on his way to dreamland, smiled lazily at Lee. "Trying to get me into your bed tonight, General?"  
Lee snorted, but his cheeks felt warm again. "I hate to break it to you, Grant, but you're not fit for the activity you have in mind. I couldn't bear to have you overexert yourself in a fit of passion."  
Grant laughed, a true laugh, a deep, bell-like sound that made Lee feel warm all over. "Alright. But it'd be stupid of you to stay cold all night. C'mon, I promise I don't bite."  
Lee, to his own surprise, laughed as well, reconsidering his opinion of Grant entirely. A mistake, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. A mistake.  
Lee ignored it, already perhaps head over heels.

As Grant was already half-naked, he climbed into the cot in grey wool underpants and not much else, save for a wooden pendant around his neck and socks. Lee stripped down to pretty much the same thing, noting how much darker his sun-bronzed skin seemed next to Grant's. The cot, narrowly occupied by Lee's six foot frame and Grant's 5 feet and 4 inches, creaked under the weight. Not that there was much more-Grant probably weighed only a hundred pounds or so, given the hard times and his naturally small build. That much Lee could feel, from their close proximity in the standard-issue cot. He tried to remember the last time he'd fallen asleep next to a warm body, and concluded it may have been over a year ago, when he last saw his wife. Worries for her, for their children, for Grant and for what would happen to them gnawed at him. Sighing, Lee set his concerns aside for the moment and fell asleep quickly, his dreams once again flecked with gold.


End file.
